Film: Patagonia Year of production: 2010 UK Release date: 11th July 2011 Distributor: Verve Certificate: 15 Running time: 118 mins Director: Marc Evans Starring: Matthew Rhys, Marta Lubos, Nahuel Perez Biscayart, Nia Roberts, Duffy Genre: Drama Format: DVD Country of Production: Argentina/UK Language: Welsh/Spanish
Review by: Karen Rogerson
Director Marc Evans’ multilingual film – in Welsh and Spanish, with a smattering of English and Polish – explores the connections between modern day Wales and the descendants of the Welsh émigrés who settled in Patagonia in the nineteenth century. In parallel stories, characters from both countries undertake journeys across the world, during which they explore their sense of history and belonging. In Patagonia, elderly Cerys is sent, by her family, to Buenos Aires to undergo a cataract operation for her rapidly deteriorating sight, chaperoned by Alejandro, the teenage son of her neighbour. Hijacking her family’s plans, Cerys instead uses her savings and cash raised from selling her wedding presents to fly with Alejandro to Wales to find the farmhouse where her mother grew up. Sulky Alejandro thinks she has gone mad, but isn’t strong willed enough to stop her. Cerys’ only clues for finding the farmhouse are a photograph of her family from 1927, and the poetic name of the farm itself - Nant Briallu, or ‘stream of daffodils’.
Their search takes them from the south to the north of the country, where they encounter warmth and kindness from some locals and cynical exploitation by others. Alejandro encounters the seedier side of modern urban life in Wales when he goes for a night out in Cardiff. Here, he first meets the character played by Duffy in a nightclub, before she collapses and is taken away by ambulance. Their paths cross again towards the end of the story, as Cerys’ search comes to a close.
In the parallel storyline, Gwen and Rhys are a Welsh couple in their thirties whose journey takes them in the opposite direction from Wales to South America. He’s been given an assignment to photograph the Welsh chapels of Patagonia, symbolic of the pioneering spirit and fortitude of the émigrés who had set up their communities there under conditions of great hardship. Gwen agrees to accompany Rhys, but it’s obvious from very early on that her commitment to him is ambivalent. When they meet Mateo, the handsome guide hired to drive them to the sites of the various chapels, it’s clear that jealousy and infidelity will uncover the unexpressed tensions in Rhys and Gwen’s relationship…
Of the two stories, that of Cerys and Alejandro is far more engaging. Her serene acceptance of her diabetes and deteriorating eyesight contrasts humorously with teenage Alejandro’s nervy restlessness – “I need to avoid all stress”, he says, “I don’t have a strong metabolism.” There’s a touching vulnerability to their efforts to track down the mythical farmhouse; the two unlikely companions staring out at the alien Welsh environment with a constant smile, on Cerys’ part, and wide eyed, anxious naivety on Alejandro’s part. The winding roads and rain soaked green hills of rural Wales hold their own against the more obvious drama of the Patagonian setting as a poetic backdrop to Cerys’ emotional journey. Marta Lubos’ wonderfully expressive face conveys an endearing sweetness as Cerys, and the growing understanding between her character and Alejandro is believable and moving. As their story comes to a resolution, Duffy’s character reappears, a competent performance as a slightly raddled escapee from urban life. By this point, the story has become rather overlong and over sentimental. Its outcome is predictable but, as a story standing by itself, it’s affecting and quietly successful.
Back in South America, the Patagonian story is disappointing, so much so that the heart sinks every time the film cuts back to it. Director of photography Robbie Ryan crafts some beautiful, sun soaked shots of the barren flatlands, with the jagged snow covered peaks of the Andes soaring behind them. But, frankly, any decent cinematographer could hardly fail to produce amazing shots given such a stunning location, and the triteness of the story and unlikeable characters make the visual drama of the film seem just another card being played by the filmmakers to try to persuade the audience of the story’s emotional intensity and depth.
Gwen is harbouring a secret, which is uncovered towards the end of the film, but it is predictable from its start. While Gwen’s character comes across as self-indulgent and unsympathetic, Rhys’ emotions are so clunkily conveyed that you can almost see the wheels turning inside his head prior to the dropping of each entirely anticipated penny.
Having prefaced the film with an explanation that the Welsh colony in Patagonia was settled by émigrés in the mid 19th century, seeking somewhere they could speak their own language and follow their own religion without persecution, surprisingly little is made of the particular character and history of Patagonia. It’s almost as if the filmmakers have transposed a bland, soapy style storyline of thirty-something urbanites to an alien location to imply some unwarranted complexity to the film’s story, while the characters’ self-absorption makes the setting too much of an irrelevance.
In fairness, there are little offshoots of incidental characters and colour which offer some distraction to the main storyline, such as the short scene of the asada (barbeque), which gives a sense of the freedom and passionate love of life in this almost frontier style existence, or the Falklands War veteran who becomes Rhys’ drinking partner for an evening. The unexpected appearance at a graveside of men singing a male voice choir harmony gives sudden emotional depth, expressing longing and sorrow, which Rhys and the veteran are unable to voice themselves. But, overall, the Patagonian story is disappointingly uninfused with any sense of what its history might signify to Rhys and Gwen, or how the dual Argentinean/Welsh origins of its community informs the film’s overall themes of belonging and identity.
A film of two halves, in more ways than one. The story of Cerys and Alejandro is slow paced yet sweet and touching, its gentle tempo reflected in the muted greens of the Welsh landscape. In the Patagonian story, the reduction of the country to a metaphorical backdrop for the self-indulgent soul searching of the European characters leaves a bad taste in the mouth. KR
Film: Honey (Bal) Year of production: 2010 UK Release date: 15th July 2011 Distributor: Verve Certificate: TBC Running time: 87 mins Director: Semih Kaplanoglu Starring: Bora Altas, Erdal Besikçioglu, Tülin Özen, Ayse Altay, Alev Uçarer Genre: Drama Format: Cinema Country of Production: Turkey/Germany Language: Turkish
Review by: Mark Player
Following on from his previous features Egg (Yumurta) in 2007 and Milk (Süt) in 2008, Turkish writer/director Semih Kaplanoglu completes his food themed trilogy with Honey (Bal) and thus, completing his exploration of these films' recurring protagonist; a man by the name of Yusuf. In Egg, the thirty-something Yusuf (Nejat Isler) returns to his childhood hometown after hearing about his mother's death. In Milk, Yusuf (Melih Selcuk) is a high school graduate – with ambitious of becoming a poet – who must come to terms with his seemingly uncertain future. In Honey, Yusuf (Bora Atlas) is a small boy living with his mother and father in a small subsistent community out in the Turkish countryside.
Yusuf shares a very deep bond with his father, Yakup (Erdal Besikçioglu), and loves to be involved with his work; going out into the forest to collect honey from bee hives placed high up in the trees. However, the honey crop is dwindling, forcing Yakup to work in valleys that are further afield, and meaning that he must leave home for a few days. A distraught Yusuf is made to stay with his mother (Tülin Özen), who is worried about her son's future prospects. Yusuf also seems to be struggling at school, unable to read aloud from his study book to the class, but this concern is eclipsed by the world-shattering idea that Yakup might not return from his trip...
Honey is a very tonal, quiet and delicate film that will likely frustrate those who are accustomed to media that's more instantly accessible. The film offers a viewing experience akin to watching a slowly opening flower and, as a result, some will have the patience for it and others won't.
The first scene sets the film's ponderous pacing immediately; the opening shot being a wide locked off angle of Yakup trekking through the woods and selecting a tree to climb. This goes on for about five minutes, cutting to another angle only when Yakup starts to haul himself up the rope. However, when the branch supporting his rope starts to give, Yukup is left hanging with little keeping him in the air. But before we're given the satisfaction of knowing the outcome of this perilous situation (does he fall to his death or find a way of re-supporting himself?), Kaplanoglu cuts to the opening credits to prolong this unexpected moment of tension before introducing Atlas' lead, learning to read from a letter pinned to the wall of his house. It soon becomes apparent that the young Atlas' portrayal of Yusuf is one of the film's biggest assets.
Incredibly, not only does Atlas carry the entire film on his undeveloped shoulders, successfully masking the somewhat meagre narrative, but takes to the craft with such apparent ease that you forget that you're watching a fictional character; a tall order and a massive achievement for a 7-year-old. Bal would not be anywhere near as engrossing if left in the hands of a different, more self-conscious child-actor.
The chemistry between Atlas and his on-screen father is highly impressive and makes for the best and most endearing moments of the film; personified through their ongoing conversations in hushed tones. Likewise, then, Besikçioglu is also well cast as the humble patriarch and his scenes with Atlas form the film's heart – semi-autobiographical ruminations between Kaplanoglu and the relationship with his own father no doubt. One charming moment sees the mother give Yusuf a glass of milk to drink after dinner. Knowing that Yusuf does not like milk, Yakup obliges and quickly downs it without his wife noticing. But when Yakup is feared missing later on, there is no-one to drink Yusaf's milk for him, prompting him to consume it himself; a simple and effective metaphor for becoming self-reliant and taking on new responsibility in the wake of another's absence.
Baris Ozbicer's cinematography is thoughtful and well framed, beautifully capturing the northern forest regions of Turkey. Naturally, there is a strong emphasis on landscape here, both in terms of what's physically there in the shot and thematically. Yusuf seems most at ease in the forest with his father, learning the day-to-day of the honey collecting trade, as well as types of flowers and what kind of honey their pollen will produce. He is also able to read with confidence to his father, but cannot do the same in a more civilised environment - at school, for instance.
However, herein perhaps lies Honey's greatest drawback. Its narrative lacks tangible significance or any sense of event, instead focusing on the family's daily routine and Yusuf's days at school. While this is well executed and reasonably engrossing for the most part, it doesn't necessarily feel like time well spent. It becomes most apparent when Yakup leaves for the next valley in search of honey, removing the core – and most interesting – element of Yusaf interacting with his father. Soon after Yakup's departure, the film drifts into aimless delirium – much like its young protagonist – and what was once slow yet serene risks becoming just plain motionless.
Some moments still work quite well. Yusaf and his mother walk through the woods, triggering a well integrated day-dream of Yakup falling from a tree, in a manner reminiscent of the first scene. Other moments don't grip quite so well, though. Yusaf staying the night with his grandmother in what appears to be some kind of convent feels like padding, as does a trip undertaken by Yusaf and his mother to the local village on market day. Another fluff-up is that it’s suggested that the story is taking place in the present, but, if this is the same Yusuf from Egg, surely the narrative would need to be set circa 1970s for it to make chronological sense.
Honey's simplicity is both a blessing and a curse. The measured pace and lovely performances (Atlas in particular) make it a delicate and personal character study of a small boy who loves his father. On the flipside, very little actually happens during the narrative; only mustering a mildly satisfying climax that cynics would argue is not enough to warrant sitting through a one-hundred-minute-long film. The results are beautiful yet superfluous, but nevertheless, Honey remains intriguing and worthwhile enough for those who enjoy quiet and thoughtful cinema, and don't require the hollow pleasures that come with instant gratification. MP
Marc Evans’ (My Little Eye) visually stunning and inspirational film about the journey of two women, one looking for her past and the other for her future, stars Matthew Rhys (Edge Of Love and Brothers & Sisters) and Grammy Award winning singer Duffy, in her acting debut. A truly original film with dialogue spoken in both Spanish and Welsh, the impressive international cast also includes Nia Roberts (Solomon & Gaynor), Nahaul Perez Biscayart (Glue) and Marta Lubos (Motorcycle Diaries).
Incorporating the culture and countryside of both Wales and Patagonia, Evans’ impressive film is a lyrical exploration of the parallel journeys of two women at very different stages of their lives. Cutting between their stories, in which one travels South to North through the Welsh springtime and the other East to West through the Argentine autumn, Patagonia is a film of intimate moments that play out against the sweeping panoramic landscapes, complemented by the hauntingly beautiful soundtrack, including songs from Duffy and exciting new up and coming artist Kirsty Almeida.
In Cardiff, Gwen (Nia Roberts) and her boyfriend Rhys (Matthew Gravelle) have felt significant strain on their relationship since discovering they are unable to conceive. When Rhys is sent on a photographic assignment to Patagonia, Gwen sees a chance to repair their relationship with a bit of adventurous escapism. Accompanying the couple as a guide is charismatic and handsome Welsh Patagonian Mateo (Matthew Rhys). As the trio travel through the welsh settlements, Rhys submerges himself in his photography and meanwhile a mild flirtation between Mateo and Gwen starts to grow into something more.
In Patagonia, elderly Argentinean native Cerys (Marta Lubos) starts a secret pilgrimage to the Welsh countryside so that she can visit her ancestral homeland before she dies. Her somewhat nervous and introverted young neighbour Alejandro (Nahaul Perez Biscayart) reluctantly comes along as her chaperone. Cerys encourages him to open his eyes and embrace new challenges and new people, and when he falls for a seductive Welsh student played by Duffy, he is soon enjoying the journey of a lifetime. Cerys meanwhile must come to terms with discovering the truth behind her family’s past and put her uncertain history to bed.
Both journeys must eventually come to an end, literally and metaphorically, and the film’s poignant climax is as heartbreaking as it is uplifting. A road movie for romantics, Patagonia is at its heart a love story, an old lady’s love for her roots and a young couple finding out if they are supposed to be together.
Film: Patagonia Release date: 4th March 2011 Certificate: 15 Running time: 118 mins Director: Marc Evans Starring: Matthew Rhys, Nia Roberts, Duffy, Marta Lubos, Nahuel Perez Biscayart Genre: Drama Studio: Verve Format: Cinema Country: Argentina/UK
Film: Men On The Bridge Release date: 28th January 2011 Certificate: 15 Running time: 87 mins Director: Asli Özge Starring: Fikret Portakal, Murat Tokgöz, Umut İlker, Cemile İlker Genre: Drama Studio: Verve Format: Cinema Country: Germany/Turkey/Netherlands
After winning Best Film awards at the Istanbul and Adana festivals, Men On The Bridge has been granted a limited cinema release in the UK. Asli Özge’s first ‘fiction’ feature loosely interweaves the lives of three Istanbul residents – a taxi-driver, a traffic cop and a young guy illegally selling roses – who every day use the bridge that spans the Bosporus.
Cabbie Umut is struggling to make ends meet and satisfy his young wife, whose ambitions for a bigger apartment are way beyond their income and puts a strain on their marriage. Lonesome cop Murat tries to find a girlfriend on the internet. Teenage Fikret searches for a real job, but is continually thwarted by his lack of education and impoverished background.
Blurring the line between fiction and documentary, Özge’s brisk narrative covers a range of issues - unemployment, immigration, poverty, urbanisation, globalisation, sex, religion, tradition, modernisation – as it depicts the lives of three men from the poorer suburbs of the Turkish capital…
Originally conceived as a documentary, Men On The Bridge often plays out as such through its lack of narrative drive, but resembles a full-blown feature thanks to some impressive camerawork from award-winning cinematographer Emre Erkmen. Technically, it’s a very accomplished picture, especially in its editing - Özge demonstrating an intuitive ability to cut or switch narratives at just the right point before her audience grows bored. For a film in which nothing overly dramatic occurs, it’s quite an achievement that our attention rarely wavers. The lack of conventional storyline may alienate some, though that may be par for the course in a film where alienation is a key theme
Istanbul, and specifically the bridge which crosses the Bosporus, famously stands as the gateway between Europe and Asia. While aspects of this inform her picture, Özge is much more interested in the notoriously congested bridge as a symbol of division. Her film presents not only an Istanbul divided socially and politically, but also a nation – indicated by news reports of fighting in the southeast between the Turkish army and a Kurdish separatist group.
Bridges may also symbolise communication, but in Özge’s film, this symbol is again defined negatively. Just as the film occupies a no-man’s land between documentary and movie, the bridge represents a spatial nowhere. It’s a space marked by journeying without arrival, a kind of sustained stasis for the three men amidst the continual passage of the other travellers. For Umut, Murat and Fikret, the bridge goes nowhere. These are characters in the process of being left behind by the promises, economic or otherwise, of modern Istanbul.
All three men are linked by disenchantment within their jobs, as well as by a shared inability to communicate and connect; symptomatic of their sense of apartness, of something missing from their lives. When 24-year old Murat isn’t displaying his immaturity by punctuating his online chats with childish animations, oblivious to the unimpressed reactions on the other end of the videocam, he’s embarking on some of the most toe-curlingly awkward dates since Robert De Niro took Cybill Shepherd to a porn cinema in Taxi Driver. Fikret’s impoverished background and general ignorance leads to his being sacked on the first day of his new restaurant job - he doesn’t get off to the best start in having no idea what cutlery means. Umut and his wife Cemile struggle to communicate meaningfully with each other, their exchanges often descending into sulking and reproachful silences. When they do manage to get across what they want or expect from life, the other seems unable or unwilling to listen. Fitting, then, that Umut is fined for using his mobile phone while driving across the bridge.
Men On The Bridge has one thing in common with a number of recent Turkish films, and especially with Pelin Esmer’s 10 To 11 - transition and a yearning for the Western way of life. The characters strive for a piece of the life advertised by soap operas and Hollywood films. This aspect is immediately signposted in the opening scene where Umut watches Tim Burton’s Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, and there is a further link between that movie’s golden ticket and the recurring motif of lottery tickets in Özge’s film. The Western way of life is represented primarily by images of consumerism and capitalism: the Dolce & Gabbana shopping bags carried by the two women Cemile follows down the street; the gaming consoles and mobile phones in the department store where Fikret and his friend spend the afternoon before they are thrown out as suspected shoplifters; Murat’s credit card debts... They represent a lifestyle which lies beyond their reach. Characters frequently say things like, “Everything depends on money,” or “If you have money, you can do anything.” By far the least likeable character, though, is Umut’s boss and landlord, Bülent; who has ‘made it’, and advises Umut to hit his wife if she complains too much. Umut tells Cemile money is this Muslim hadji’s true god. They both criticise Bülent for worshipping money, even as they secretly envy him.
Within a world marked by constant longing and denial, love and commerce become intertwined. Murat must pay membership fees for all those dating websites, searching for a love which he never finds. “I want the same things you want,” Umut tells his wife, but the distance between what each wants and what each expects means day by day they fall further out of love. Fikret has neither love nor money, and endeavours to find a proper job so he can pay a prostitute to relieve him of his virginity. It reveals how little he has come to expect from life that the prospect of finding a girl he doesn’t have to pay for sex seems as remote as escaping his job selling flowers on the bridge.
Though the film never prioritises one story over another, Umut and Cecile’s narrative has the most impact; mainly because in its examination of a marriage in crisis, it seems to suggest love alone may not be enough. It would be easy to brush off Umut’s attitude as simply depression, but the film encourages us to address the social conditions which have shaped his outlook. That pessimism seems more realistic than his wife’s dreams of a huge flat screen television to place on the wall of an apartment neither can afford. In this, the film’s themes carry universal resonance. Özge seems to identify the false promises of capitalism, the dissatisfaction that rampant consumerism (the ‘aspirational lifestyle’) breeds and constantly feeds back off. Özge never takes sides, though, and her film is more concerned with asking questions than providing answers. Umut seems more resigned to his lot than content, and at least Cemile has some life left in her, and still retains the capacity to dream and hope for better.
The film is performed by non-professional actors, essentially playing themselves (with the exception of Murat, who as a policeman was not allowed to appear in the film). It’s the most obvious example of the film’s blurring between documentary and movie, and it adds an extra authenticity to proceedings. You wonder how close to the bone much of this is for the real people, and to what extent their actual lives resemble those onscreen. A final exchange between Umut and Cemile is especially powerful. Both are clearly descending into a state of depression (if not already there), and the pain is tangible upon their faces and in their body language. This is more than acting, and it can be almost unbearably intimate in places.
The film closes with its only moment of genuine connection. Murat, the archetypal country boy lost in the big city, sits by the shoreline and calls his mother to say he misses her and his little village. Significantly, he does not cross the river via the bridge, instead he takes the ferry. A conclusion which seems to confirm Özge’s position that the modern world may be no place for those with a heart.
It’s debatable whether the world really needs another piece of social realism portraying modern alienation, but it would be a shame if Men On The Bridge slips under the radar. It could do with a little more light to balance out the pessimism, which sometimes threatens to overwhelm, but, for the most part, Özge’s film is an assured, thought-provoking debut. It will be interesting to see where she goes from here. GJK
Men On The Bridge comes to UK cinemas having been enthusiastically received at more than thirty festivals worldwide, winning Best Film Awards at Istanbul, Ankara and Adana, as well as the London Turkish Film Festival’s award for distribution in the UK and Ireland.
Spanning the divide between Europe and Asia, Istanbul’s gridlocked Bosphorus Bridge is the focal point of Men On The Bridge, a wonderful portrait of life in the rapidly changing sprawl of today’s city. Following the lives of three young inhabitants from the suburbs who use the bridge daily, the film uses non professional actors to tell their individual stories as their paths occasionally cross, and they struggle to realise their aspirations.
Unemployed Fikret (17) illegally sells roses in the traffic jam on the bridge, and would do anything to have a real job. Umit (28)) drives a shared taxi, crossing the bridge every day, hoping that the work will allow him to rent a better apartment to satisfy his wife Cecile. Traffic cop Murat, who is stationed on the bridge, feels alone amongst the solid line of cars. Every night at home, he logs onto the internet, hoping that he might one day find love on line. Originally from Eastern Turkey, he finds the city a lonely place.
Unaware of each other, Fikret, Umut and Murat intersect in the rush hour every day, along with millions of other Instanbulites, coping with the challenges of life in this frenetic city. Their stories are simple and universal, and are bought alive by the first rate performances of the excellent cast.
Film: Men On The Bridge Release date: 28th January 2011 Certificate: 15 Running time: 87 mins Director: Asli Özge Starring: Fikret Portakal, Murat Tokgöz, Umut İlker, Cemile İlker Genre: Drama Studio: Verve Format: Cinema Country: Germany/Turkey/Netherlands
Film: Dogtooth Release date: 13th September 2010 Certificate: 18 Running time: 97 mins Director: Giorgos Lanthimos Starring: Christos Stergioglou, Michelle Valley, Aggeliki Papoulia, Mary Tsoni, Hristos Passali Genre: Comedy/Drama Studio: Verve Format: DVD Country: Greece
The winner of Un Certain Regard at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival, Giorgios Lanthimos’ Dogtooth is unforgettably bizarre and unsettling. The film is a surrealist blend of drama, thriller and horror genres with some dark, dark comedy thrown in; with significant satirical undertones forcing the viewer to question society and the nature of control over others. Lanthimos clearly doesn’t mind shaking up his audience, where the focus on an extremely unusual and unnamed Greek family (Father, Mother, Older Daughter, Younger Daughter and Son) highlights effectively disconcerting individual and collective central performances.
In a secluded area somewhere in Greece, Dogtooth portrays the life of a family unit under strict control of Mother (Michelle Valley) and Father (a most particularly menacing Christos Stergioglou). The parents are so strict in fact that their ‘children’ (who appear in their late teens to early twenties) have a life that exists only within a walled perimeter, where extraordinary tales of a cruel world outside the wall keep them inside a physical and psychological home-styled prison.
Older Daughter (Aggeliki Papoulia), Younger Daughter (Mary Tsoni) and Son (Hristos Passalis) display a naiveté that belies their years, where they have been taught that common domesticated cats are the most dangerous creatures alive, and aeroplanes are toys that can easily fall out of the sky and into their garden. Their parents have even created a warped language for their offspring to speak, where the ‘sea’ is an armchair and ‘zombies’ are flowers in the garden.
Father is the only member of the enclosed household who is allowed to venture outside the property, travelling to work in a second life as a factory manager. From here, he brings home female security officer Christina (Anna Kalaitzidou) to robotically satisfy the sexual urges of Son. However, Christina brings elements of the outside world into the household, and soon the manipulative Utopian world of the parents begins to crash around them as their ‘children’ begin to rebel amidst scenes of escalating violence and sexual awakening…
There is a metaphor in Dogtooth that sums up Father’s intent in the sinister upbringing of his grown-up children. When Father is talking to a dog trainer in his dual life away from his miniature empire, the trainer states: “Dogs are like clay, and our job here is to mould them.” Father (and indeed Mother) certainly believe that their offspring are theirs to be moulded at all times, extending the dog metaphor by telling their ‘children’ that they may only leave the compound if or when their ‘dogtooth’ falls out. There are also several disturbingly comic scenes where the family are trained by Father (utilising skills learned from the dog trainer) to bark like dogs to ward off danger, especially the allegedly terrifying threat of domestic cats.
In his portrayal of the devious head of household, Christos Stergioglou is the undoubted villain of the piece (although Mother is certainly more than an adequate accomplice). Stergioglou maintains a strange air of calm for almost the entire film, adding to a sense of creepiness that prevails in his shocking display of authority and hyper over-protectiveness over his progeny. Father is a man who engineers the continual lies and deceit which cover over his walled estate to the extent where he will rip his work clothes and pour fake blood over himself to suggest that he has been mauled by a cat in the world outside.
Yet in bringing Christina into his home, Father unwittingly invites the outside world in to his distorted domain. She becomes bored of the mechanical sex service she is paid to provide for the benefit of Son, and begins to sexually manipulate Older Daughter for her own satisfaction. It is through this that the rebellion against the parents begins, led by Older Daughter’s increased awareness of a world separate from all that she has known.
The performances of the grown-up ‘children’ are excellent, particularly where their blank naivety mixes with very adult extremes of sex and violence. All three siblings are continually forced into competition against each other, although the in-fighting common amongst siblings is here displayed with attempts to slash and break bones with knives and hammers. As Youngest Daughter (Mary Tsoni) is particularly childlike in her actions, despite the serious nature of the items she wants to ‘play’ with. For instance, in one scene she instigates a game with her sister whereby they both have to consume a high dosage of anaesthetic and “the first person to wake up wins.” The actors are so convincing in their roles, however, that we can see that the siblings do not have any awareness of the consequences of their actions, although with Older Daughter’s increasing awareness of human manipulation, their boundaries begin to be pushed to the limit.
The cinematography of Dogtooth adds to the film’s sense of absurdist surrealism, creating a somewhat slow and dreamlike tone. The staid decor of the house and the plain clothing of the unwitting prisoners (or Father’s family) hide the trauma bubbling under the surface. This is punctuated only in intermittent (but constantly threatening) scenes of graphic sex and violence, including, notably, a section of the film where Son attacks a cat that has wandered into the walled garden with a pair of garden shears.
Perhaps it’s no surprise that the Dogtooth DVD features only a trailer as a special feature, where the subject matter is hardly a mainstream barrel of laughs. Director Lanthimos succeeds however in hinting at the nature of extreme power and control amongst scenes of sex and violence that will offend, combining drama, horror and thriller genres with a very dark undercurrent of satirical humour most definitely not for the faint of heart. DB
Film: Dogtooth Release date: 13th September 2010 Certificate: 18 Running time: 97 mins Director: Giorgos Lanthimos Starring: Christos Stergioglou, Michelle Valley, Aggeliki Papoulia, Mary Tsoni, Hristos Passali Genre: Comedy/Drama Studio: Verve Format: DVD Country: Greece
An intense study of three young adults contained within a fabricated existence constructed by their parents. Yorgos Lanthimos casts an unflinching eye on the taboo, his minimalist approach uncovering disturbingly real performances from a brave cast.
Father and Mother live a seemingly perfect existence in a large, secluded compound in the countryside, where they look after their three children.
Daughter, Older Daughter and Son never leave the compound on specific instruction of their parents, who tell them horror stories about the wildlife outside the garden fence.
The children spend their days learning a fabricated vocabulary and competing for the approval of their parents, in the hope that they will receive points of merit, or perhaps one of the toy airplanes that fly over the house and sometimes fall from the sky.
The only outside visitor to the compound is Christina, an employee of Father who services the sexual needs of Son. Christina soon begins to take advantage of Older Daughter, trading outside stimuli for sexual favours. This incurs the wrath of Father, who then decides to look within the family for a new sexual partner for Son…
Yorgos Lanthimos’s stark vision of an enforced microcosm has no real agenda other than the observation of cruel experimentation disguised as parental instinct. The reasons behind this experiment, the motivation of Mother and Father, and many of the films other moral conundrums, are open to interpretation.
There is a nihilistic streak running through Dogtooth that is rarely seen in modern cinema. Not since the early work of Lars Von Trier and Abel Ferrara has such an indifferent eye been cast on human suffering. As viewers, our compulsion to take sympathy on the children is at odds with our morbid fascination, which in turn is conducive towards being complicit with the parents. A purposeful lack of any kind of cinematic gloss accentuates the bleak realism of Lanthimos’ film. While not exactly dogme, the distinctly minimalist style is contextually apt and contributes greatly towards to the unsettling atmosphere.
The narrative of Dogtooth is steadfastly murky. No motive is offered for the parents’ decision to imprison their offspring; no explanation is given as to why they decide to fill their heads with a nonsense language and encourage them to compete in cruel popularity games that often end in shocking acts of violence.
When Father visits an elite canine training facility to retrieve a new addition to the family he is offered a clinical deconstruction of animal obedience, the only insight we have into the strange lives of the family is the expression of understanding on Father’s face.
The children should be an object of sympathy, yet even this isn’t as simple as it should be in Lanthimos’s strange, sombre reality. Daughter creates many of the games that start the fierce competition between her brother and sister. Son is replete with childlike innocence, yet his position as future patriarch means his role within the family is resented by his sisters. It is Older Sister, played with quiet confidence by Aggeliki Papoullia, who emerges as the film’s only glimmer of hope. Whether she is quoting Jaws by the pool or displaying a blossoming penchant for manipulation with Christina, Older Daughter seems to be the only one of the children that has evolved past the restrictive world created by the parents. Although, in the film’s final moments, the sense of hope is tainted by the bleak reality of the children’s institutionalised existence.
An unsettling psycho-drama that recalls Von Trier, Dogtooth is disturbing, thought provoking and, at times, uncomfortably amusing. Yorgos Lanthimos’ strange portrait of an experimental family unit attempts to embroil its audience in the sinister machinations of Mother and Father. KT
Film: Dogtooth Release date: 23rd April 2010 Certificate: 18 Running time: 96 mins Director: Yorgos Lanthimos Starring: Christos Stergioglou, Michelle Valley, Aggeliki Papoulia, Mary Tsoni Genre: Thriller/Drama Studio: Verve Format: Cinema Country: Greece
We’ve all heard arguments that children these days are wrapped up in cotton wool by overprotective parents. Director Giorgos Lanthimos takes this critique and runs wild with it, demonstrating the cost of maintaining a perfect family in a film of obsession and isolation.
Dogtooth offers us a glimpse into the life of a Greek family, structured around a foundation of discipline and order, regimented by a compulsive father (Stregioglou). His determination to shield them from the outside world extends beyond the anxiety of a dutiful father, and his vision of an ideal family is embedded so deeply in his mindset that his grown-up son and two daughters (Passalis, Tsoni and Papoulina) have never been allowed to venture further than the bottom of the drive. Using the ignorance installed in the childish minds of his children, and ultimately manipulating their fear both of him and the unknown, he rules in his own familial prison.
Naïve and younger than their years, the children have been brainwashed with a false reality painted by their parents and reinforced by their seclusion. Brought up to believe in an elusive brother who defiantly left to live on the other side of “the wall”, they await the loss of their dogteeth to signify their authorised readiness to follow suit and leave the confines of their house.
Christina (Kalaitzidou) is a security officer employed by the father to come into the home and satisfy his son’s sexual needs; she is the only snatch of the outside world permitted into the household, under the watchful eye of the father.
Viewers follow the family as they encounter persistent threats of truth, which increasingly plague the head of the house and drive him to neurosis as he struggles to fend them off. His children on the other hand, develop a taste for Christina’s alien ways, and jeopardise the world that their father has worked so hard to secure…
Plot proves rather stark in this slow-paced drama, but this only makes it a stronger film. Its emphasis on characters and relationships between people is intensified by lengthy shots that linger not on carefully composed frames of stars’ faces, but on the family’s environment - their reality. Quirky but naturalistic dialogue weaves in and out of these scenes, which come together in a fragmented portrayal of a distorted lifestyle. Whilst a sense of distance detaches the viewer from the family, the very strangeness of the situation is engrossing and prompts further viewing, simply to find out what new peculiarity is about to happen.
Although rather dark in its theme, graphic in its sex scenes, and brutal in its occasional moments of violence, there are more than a few laughs along the way. Dog-barking lessons are just one of the bizarre customs adopted by the family: after all, what better way to deter those man-eating domestic cats? The absurd behaviour engrained in the children offer comic relief in circumstances that are in fact quite tragic.
The performances of those playing the children are intimately well-observed. They interact with each other in a way we expect to see in wildlife documentaries, playing and teasing each other like a litter of wolf cubs. They are competitive and quarrelsome, yet completely reliant on each other to keep boredom and loneliness at bay. Their father encourages their behaviour by inventing contests for them to participate in, so that they constantly strive to better each other and fulfil their father’s expectations. Whilst viewers may find it difficult to identify with any one of the children, the father is undoubtedly the villain of the piece, played with cool hostility by Stergioglou. His endless efforts to maintain power over his family range from cutting off labels from water bottles to creating a dialect unique to his house. As he carries out such exertions with admirable diligence, his complete lack of compassion and emotion move the viewer to resent him.
Comedy and repulsion successfully meet in Dogtooth to explore what really goes on behind closed doors. No one regards their family as normal, but few can claim to have suffered the upbringing presented in Lanthimos’s latest. RS
